Your Bed?
by RedSneakerShoes
Summary: I wrote some drunk stuff. John is drunk. I might have had a little as well. Sherlock has to pick John up and tuck him into bed.


It's half past midnight and I might be a teensy bit tipsy at the moment. This seemed like a good idea. I should be writing NaNoWriMo, not drunken fanfiction. But it's probably better I write this drunk than my NaNo. I think spell check got most of my mistakes though. Here, have some drunken John fluff though.

* * *

The party had been dull, and it was a normal reaction among party participants to make up for what was missing by drinking more. This had happened at that day and it was only just past midnight, when Sherlock received a call from Lestrade, telling him to pick up John. Somewhere in the back of the room John yelled something among the lines of "Sherly, no, why" and "I didn't even drink". Sherlock barely replied Lestrade, but just hung up and jumped from his sofa. He was already fully dressed, of course, as this was not the first time he had to pick John up in a drunken state. He grabbed his coat and scarf from the coat hanger by the door and ran down the stairs quickly, but quietly. There was no need to wake up Mrs. Hudson. He bolted the door and hailed a cab, (they passed by Baker Street often, as Sherlock often needed one, he paid well (mostly because he wasn't bothered to count the money) and rumours spread fast) telling the address in a short fashion, that didn't invite to any more conversation. The cab kept quiet during the ride. Sherlock reached the pub and swung the door up and walked in with his back straight and his head high. He was on an important job and there was no time for the drunk heads spilling beer and asking him to join. He located John with ease. Mostly because the man was yelling and Lestrade continuously attempted to make him shut up. Sherlock walked straight up to him and grabbed his shoulders.

"We're going home, John," he said. Thank god the man was already in his jacket.

"No," John moaned, but followed dutifully. Lestrade let out a relieved sigh and slid back into his chair and downed the rest of his beer. Sherlock smirked and lead John out of the pub and into the cab. He didn't say a single word during the ride back, but kept his gaze on the window more than out of it. Sherlock helped him out of the cab and paid the cab driver a generous tip, before helping John up the stairs. All about not disturbing Mrs. Hudson could be forgotten. John nearly fell up the stairs and Sherlock more carried than helped John up. They made it up without Mrs. Hudson coming out to check on them. Sherlock hang his coat and scarf back on the coat hanger, but John just tumbled towards the sofa and fell face first down onto it.

"John, take off your jacket," Sherlock said as if he was speaking to a small child.

"No," John said. Maybe Sherlock was talking to a small child.

"Yes, John. I will help you if you want me to," Sherlock offered. John sat up and thought about this for a moment. Then he looked at Sherlock. He was swaying, but he nodded and stretched his arm out. Sherlock laughed shortly at the completely helpless gesture and pulled at John's jacket sleeve.

"Now pull back your arm," Sherlock said gently, when John just sat there. John squinted his eyes at him and looked very doubtfully at Sherlock. He only hesitantly pulled his arm back, allowing Sherlock to get the jacket off of him. He took the other sleeve off as well and threw the jacket over a chair.  
"Come here," Sherlock said. "Let's get you to bed."

"Your bed?" John said hopefully.

"No," Sherlock said, but John was looking at him from the sofa with big, pleading eyes and Sherlock sighed.  
"Come here," Sherlock said again and stretched his arms out. He helped John up and they more or less tumbled into Sherlock's bedroom. John fell onto the bed and fiddled with his trouser's zipper, but seemed to be unable to find it. Sherlock helped him and pulled his jumper off as well. John had started on the buttons of the shirt. Sherlock sighed deeply. This was ridiculous and he helped John out of the shirt as well.

"Thank you," John mumbled in a drunken voice, that was muffled by the pillow. Sherlock covered him with the duvet, and John sniffed the pillow he was hugging.

"Goodnight, John," Sherlock said softly before he turned off the light and returned to his position on the sofa to think.


End file.
